by Lydia Grace
“You tore my heart out so that you wouldn’t hurt me?” she asked waspishly.
He grinned. “Back to your old sweet self, I see. Yes, that’s about the sum of it.”
“Great. And I suppose you want me to thank you?” Lauren sighed deeply, contentment washing around her as Jon held her in his arms, contentment and a building excitement and desire.
“No. I want you to marry me.” T
here, it was out. The question that had caused him more soul-searching and gut-wrenching anxiety than the decision to quit his position at Rush Co. He waited, his breath caught in his throat, for her answer.
“Jon, I couldn’t live in Toronto…I think I’m going to want to paint again!” Her look was exultant, and he knew she’d given him the beginnings of an answer.
“You wouldn’t have to. I’m going to set up a small company, producing replicas of vintage cars—that’s why I left the second set of blueprints for your cottage blank. I think we’ll need a little more room than a cottage built for one.”
Jon had propped himself up on one elbow, and his other hand was doing something exquisite as it wandered under the hem of her sweater. Lauren’s breath grew a little ragged as his warm, strong fingers touched her silken skin, then her own fingers began to play with the buttons of his shirt and she delighted in the darkening of his blue gaze.
“Just one last question,” she asked a mischievous smile on her lips. “The cottage is awful small, you know. What about when the babies come along?”
So he had his answer, in full. Triumphantly, Jon grinned. “Then I’ll have to build us a castle of our own,” he said, and he lowered his head to capture her mouth with his own.
THE END
